


Scars and Souvenirs

by ZuluOscarEcho



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuluOscarEcho/pseuds/ZuluOscarEcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac's thoughts on all his non-existent (physical) scars.</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Even without his scars to show for it, his past, and his father, would always be a part of him, the good and the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars and Souvenirs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stayingputwouldbeablunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/gifts).
  * Inspired by [every star and every galaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040129) by [stayingputwouldbeablunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder). 



> To stayingputwouldbeablunder who not only wrote the work that inspired this but also discussed Isaacs issues with me as well as betaed for me, thank you so much.

Isaac stood in the bathroom of the McCall's house in just his underwear, mentally cataloging the scars that should adorn his skin. Despite the fact that the steam from his shower had dissipated 15 minutes ago, his werewolf side kept him running warm. His fingers brushed over the empty skin reflected in the mirror in disbelief. They should be there.

He could remember the first time he’d noticed they were gone. Less than a week after Derek’s bite, he’d stepped out of the shower and accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Usually, he looked away as soon as he made the mistake of glancing at his reflection but this time he couldn't. His skin was perfectly clear. 

There wasn't a single bruise or inch of puckered skin on his entire body. He checked. 

He couldn’t believe they weren't there. They should be there. So many scars that had become a part of him, that were still embedded in his memories. He couldn't believe the physical remnants were gone.

The thin line across the side of his ribs from the bannister of the stairs down to the basement that he’d slammed into with his entire body weight and the force of gravity behind him. You wouldn’t think a cut from what was essentially a splinter would do so much lasting damage.

The jagged line in his hairline behind his ear from being forced back against the wall and catching himself on an old protruding nail. He needed a tetanus shot and three stitches for that one and he’d had a bald patch for a month.

The sliver through his eyebrow from a cracked vase that had literally turned his vision red and made his eyes burn. Head wounds, he’d learnt, liked to bleed a lot. He’d picked the tiny little hairs out of the wound and sealed it up with butterfly bandages; by then he’d gotten pretty good at first aid. 

The tiny slit in his skin above a rib from a kick he hadn't been quick enough to dodge. He'd had two broken ribs and was in hospital for a week. Not that his dad had come to visit. Such a tiny scar for such a horrific injury and now he didn't even have that.

The broken fingers he'd received because he didn’t move his hands out of the way fast enough before the lid of the freezer was slammed shut. The next day after lacrosse practice he went to Coach who moaned and groaned as he took Isaac to the school nurse to have his fingers set. 

His father was lucky he played lacrosse.

There are too many to count really but he knew them all, remembered how he got them, the pain, how long it took them to heal, how big the scar was. Even the ones that didn’t leave scars, the bruises that turned from purple and blue to red and then yellow before disappearing completely, only to be replaced by others. They were only temporary marks but enough to keep him in long sleeves all year round. The bruises on his legs and shins were easy to explain but the bands of purple around his wrists and forearms, the black eyes and split lips were more difficult. He's pretty sure half of school is convinced he's part of some underground Fight Club.   
Because no one would ever think he got them at home. 

***

Sometimes he remembered the times before Camden joined the military, before his brother died.

He remembered getting the scars on his knees from falling off his brother's bike because he’d ridden it instead of his own, which still had the training wheels on. He remembers his father’s smile, how he’d wiped the blood away and carefully picked the gravel out before gently bandaging it up.

He remembered falling out of a tree and fracturing his wrist. He remembered his father’s voice calling his name frantically and the worry on his face when he reached him lying on the ground with tears running down his cheeks. He remembered his father carrying him to the car and speeding off to the hospital and holding his hand as they set his wrist in plaster. He remembered having ice cream for dinner that night and getting to stay up past his bedtime to watch TV (even though he fell asleep on the couch at 8 o’clock anyway). He remembered waking up as his father carried him to bed.

He remembers playing with Camden in the cemetery, climbing after his brother over a barbed wire fence and slitting his arm open from wrist to elbow. It hadn't been too deep and only a thin, faint scar had remained by the time he'd been turned but his father had scolded Camden for letting Isaac follow when he was so much younger and smaller than his brother. 

Even without his scars to show for it, his past, and his father, would always be a part of him, the good and the bad.


End file.
